Necromancer
by Lewis The King
Summary: Harry Potter dabbled in things he shouldn't have. If enough people like it, I'll continue. Drabble/Oneshot


Necromancer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, no profit is gained from this fan-work.

XXXXXXX

I reflect upon my life as I quietly dig, something the protections around the white marble mausoleum were not equipped to deal with, with each smashing off my shovel into the dirt my back aches further, but that's alright, nowadays every movement I make hurts. I always wondered, was I special? There was a reason my aunt called me a 'freak' it was because I liked dead things, a few miles away there was a cemetery with a playground opposite, when Petunia took me and Duddly there I always went to the graveyard, after the fourth time I snuck into the graveyard and tried to dig something up that Petunia stopped taking us there. It was when I was eleven that I got my first taste of it, _death_, I hadn't drunk from the unicorn, but I could feel the power in the air, but since no one else had brought it up, I hadn't asked, later I took a life, Quirrell, as much as I tried to deny it, as much as I tried to be 'Just Harry', that had felt good, almost intoxicating, it felt like I was god, although I put it down to the close proximity to Voldemort, it was me, I chose to push my hands against his face, smothering the life out of him as he burned to death.

It was in the second year, when I slew the Bassilisk that the power really started to shine through, I could do things I never could before, inflicting headaches on people just by staring at them for a long time, the extra power came in handy a year later, fighting off those Dementers took a lot more power than I usually had, but in their presence, if I could fight it off, I became invincible. Or at least I felt it, that's how I got this bad back. Cedric's death... I felt pity, I felt regret, but no matter how much I try, I couldn't mourn him, I don't have it in me. Fifth year... it was as average a year as any other, apart from one thing, my godfather dying, but, I didn't know him too well, so I got over it quickly, does that make me a bad person? In my sixth year, Dumbledore died, I truly mourned him, but despite that my power was growing daily, every second spent around his tomb increased my strength. In my seventh year, I destroyed all of Voldemort's horcrux's, but he wasn't a fool, he fell back in a uncharacteristic moment of clarity, leaving us bent but not broken, standing on our last legs as it were, and then I hid, researching as many powerful magics as I could, scrambling to defeat Voldemort, but he had vanished as well, the Dark Lord wasn't vanquished, the ministry was still under his control, but the best and brightest witches and wizards inhabit the castle, all seemed the same, I kept researching, it was pointless, living in a cave gets boring after a few days let alone weeks and months but eventually I came across a single reference, those who are neither living nor dead-, and a hint to a tomb and by this point any advantage Voldemort had I had to counter, so I investigated.

I found books of monumental power and scrolls marked with the death of thousands, and when I came out of hiding, I was no longer the same man, but a dried up shell and a wannabe 'Grey Lord', I did terible things and called it balance, I wonder how Voldemort gets out of bed, if he slept at all, I realize now that he get's out of bed because, if he were to ever look back, even for a second and seriously contemplated, he would lose all momentum, there is no middle ground, just delusions of power and a supposedly 'iron will', Ron and Hermone found me, and they put me through every cleansing, healing and mental restoration ritual they could find, and they succeeded, I was back to normal, but I knew things no mortal man should, the things which hid in the shadows, the gods playing an infinitely complex chess game which they frequently ignored, and worst of all, I could hear the dead screaming. And so I hunted for Voldemort, unsuccessful, I believe that the professor once said that to see the future one must look back to the past. And so I did, using the black magic which marked me fior death.

Clunk.

And finally I've made it underneath one of the stones, and it's crumbling, yes, the wards have been broken, I couldn't just waltz into this place, I'm wanted for 'murder' along side a dozen other 'major' crimes, and a thousand petty ones. As it is, if i defeat Voldemort, he'll be made into a martyr, i'll be killed whether by the ministry, or the death eaters, it doesn't matter in either case, I wasn't the leader of the Order, I wasn't a hero, for god's sake, I was digging under a good mans grave, a good man I needed. I'm not after the wand through, it's long since been pillaged from this place, it's the corpse which I'm interested in. At age eleven I knew I was different. Now, I knew just how much of a freak I am. I brake through the stone, entering the chamber which contained the body, perfectly preserved, with wand in hand I call upon shadows and coax them to my will, searching the afterlife, until I find him, he resists, but I'm more than experienced than he is at matters of the soul, at least in the practical aspect. The corpses eyes twitched, glued together by the dust and lack of fluid common in all preserved bodies, with a few quick charms he is back to normal, I clutch my chest as it seizes in pain, Dumbledore looked up to me, confused. I don't notice, the darkness requires a certain personality, my body is both dying and dead.

"Harry, are you... alight?" the white-haired old man quietly trailed off as he noticed the attire I was sporting, black silk robes woven with a bone needle, tight boots and gloves designed to pronounce the veins and a symbol of a triangle, circle and a line displayed proudly on my chest. "Harry, what have you done...?!"

I smile, my cheek bones pushing through my skin, lips cracking and bleeding as I did so, making my deadly pale skin look all the worse, "Hello Headmaster, it's nice to see you again".

End.

XXXXXXXX


End file.
